


Down the Pub

by Delphi



Series: Hard Men [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Multiple Partners, Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-11
Updated: 2010-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Argus Filch gets a rude introduction to his new master's friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down the Pub

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kink Bingo 2010. Prompt: _Humiliation (In Public)_

"So this is the pup, then," he said when Apollyon turned up late to the pub with a boy in tow.

It was a merry night at the Hog's Head, and he and the fellows had been set up at their usual table for a half-hour already, having a drink and a smoke and waiting on their fourth. The beef delivery had come in early, letting him see the butchery closed up in good order, and Duncan and Tully had brushed off the sawdust and put on their Saturday evening best. The pub was packed to the rafters, but Apollyon had a way of mowing through a crowd like a thresher through a field, and his little shadow trotted along behind him, sticking close.

This was the first glimpse Jim had got of the lad since Apollyon went and took him on a few weeks back. He wasn't much to look at, as it turned out. Ought to be at least fourteen to be 'prenticed, but he was a weedy-looking little thing, undersized and underfed, all big pale eyes in a homely face. A head shorter than any of them and half the width—lamb, not mutton.

"Aye," Apollyon said with a snort, stealing a fifth chair from the next table amidst protests.

The lad nearly sat down, but his master tossed a coin at him instead.

"Fetch me a whisky, boy. And don't think I don't know how much I'm owed back."

"Yessir," the lad murmured dutifully.

The voice made Jim reconsider his age. It had properly dropped, more a youth's than a boy's.

The lad made it all of half a pace before Apollyon smacked him hard on the arse.

"And be quick about it!"

That put a spring in the lad's step, all right, and the lot of them had a good snigger as he bobbed and wove his way up to the bar.

Jim picked up the deck of cards and shuffled, then dealt out four hands. The lad returned a few minutes later, watching the glass in his hand carefully so that he didn't spill a drop. He set the drink in front of his master and then sat down and made himself invisible. Seen but not heard—that was an apprentice's lot, and the lad obligingly kept his trap shut, watching the game of darts going on in the opposite corner while the rest of them talked Quidditch and work.

It was a few hands later when Tully, lecher that he was, finally asked what they were all thinking. "So, Polly—you putting it to this one yet?"

The lad's head swivelled around from the darts game, his big grey eyes bulging.

"Call me that again and I'll put your head through that window," Apollyon said affably. "And what do you think? It ain't like they pay me enough to get it afield."

Jim might have taken it for bluster if it weren't for the lad's reaction. The pup squirmed in his seat, his pale cheeks blooming roses.

"Aw," Duncan cooed. "You haven't broken him in right if he can still blush."

He couldn't help but chuckle at that, and he punched Apollyon on the arm. "Bloody pervert. He's just a bashful little maid, ain't he. I bet he hasn't even got hair on his balls yet."

"He's the runt of the litter is all," Apollyon said, and he kicked the lad's chair. "Oi."

The lad halted in his attempt to blush himself to death and immediately glanced to his master's glass. Jim's lips twitched. The lad wasn't slow-witted, but he wasn't lucky either. The glass was still half-full.

Apollyon fished a cigarette out of his pocket and cadged a match off Duncan. He looked the lad over like he was seeing him for the first time too and then struck the match on his thumbnail. "Go on," he said. "Show Tully I'm not a kiddie-fiddler."

The lad stared stupidly for several seconds, his mouth opening and shutting like a trout's. His gaze flickered hesitantly around the table as though he was expecting them all to burst out laughing and admit they were taking the piss. Jim was half waiting for that himself, but Apollyon was looking serious and the prospect was...interesting.

Apollyon leaned in close to the lad, lighting his cigarette and taking a drag. He blew out a puff of smoke that made the lad's eyes water. "Am I going to have to ask you twice?"

That prompted a truly miserable squirm. The lad was an obedient one, by all reports. Apollyon wouldn't put up with anything else, let alone cart the lad out in public if he weren't. _Ain't got the imagination for mischief_, he remembered Apollyon saying about the lad when he first took him on.

He lit his own cigarette, not unmoved by the sight. The lad blushed like a girl, the colour high on his cheeks. It was fetching.

A quick, worried glance around at the other tables and the lad was furtively fumbling with his belt.

Tully was the first to crane his neck for a better look. What the hell—Jim followed suit. The lad's fingers were clumsy as he worked at his buttons, and he parted his placket just quickly enough to allow a glimpse of dark brown curls.

Apollyon made an impatient sound and reached over to pull it open properly. "See? Grass on the pitch and all."

"And a goalpost!" Tully exclaimed, barking a laugh in surprise.

Duncan whistled loudly. "It's a wonder he don't fall over."

It was a big todger for a little lad, all right, and it gave a noticeable twitch at the attention. They laughed.

"I take it back," Jim said. "He's up for it."

"Right little tart," Apollyon said fondly, sitting back in his chair as a new hand was dealt.

The lad hurriedly buttoned back up, looking embarrassed but a little proud of himself too, as well he should. "Going to the gents," he muttered, obviously intending to have a wank, and stood up.

Apollyon grabbed his wrist and yanked him back down. "Oh, no you don't. I didn't bring you along for your health. You're on drinks duty."

They got back to their game. Jim couldn't help but notice, however, that Apollyon's hand stayed under the table, only reappearing now and again to flip a coin into the pot. He stole a few glances at the lad, watching him fidget, watching his eyes get brighter and his breathing start to come harder.

He snorted. "You're a bastard, Polly."

Tully looked up at the lad's caught-out expression and then peeked under the table. Then he grinned and nudged his empty glass forward a little, looking at Apollyon for leave.

Apollyon's hand retreated and cuffed the lad on the back of the head. "Get Tully another drink."

The lad froze. "Justaminute?"

"Tully's thirsty _now_," Apollyon said.

The lad shook his head violently, his gaze darting around before locking pleadingly onto his master. "But someone will _see_," he whispered.

Jim clucked his tongue softly at the backchat.

Apollyon obviously heard it, as his expression hardened. "Stand up," he said firmly.

Looking wretched, the lad reluctantly obeyed. His trousers were perfectly tented, his cock trying to bust out of his placket.

Duncan laughed, and Tully licked his lips.

The lad hurriedly shrugged off his coat and tried to hide behind it, but Apollyon—obviously not caring to be shown up in public—smacked him hard on the hand.

"Leave it."

The coat dropped to the chair as the lad slunk slump-shouldered around the table to collect Tully's money. Tully, of course, made a great show of digging through his pockets and counting out the Knuts before sending him off with a hearty whallop on the arse.

Head jerking from side to side like he was running across railway tracks, the lad all but flew to the bar. They watched him as he waited for the glass, shifting from foot to foot impatiently.

"Ought to ask for an ice bucket," Jim muttered, to general amusement.

The lad hurried back shortly, holding the glass in front of himself. He delivered it safely to Tully and then dove back into his chair, his arms crossed and his face nearly purple.

"He still hard?" Duncan asked.

Apollyon looked and then smirked. "Feel for yourself."

Duncan lit up. A faint sound of protest slipped from the lad's throat, but it was swiftly followed by a quiet moan as Duncan gave his cock a vigorous rub through his trousers.

"As iron," Duncan announced with relish.

They took their cue from there, and it livened up the game, all right. By turn, they sent the lad off for refills, downing their drinks as quick as they could manage. If three empty glasses hit the table at once, the lad went thrice, ferrying the drinks back one at a time, hunched over and hurrying.

When it was his own turn, Jim couldn't help but take his time writing out a promissary note, even though he had enough coin in his pocket. He held a borrowed pencil stub in one hand and occupied the other with the lad's arse, having a leisurely feel. That fine young cock hadn't flagged once all night, and Jim suspected he wasn't the only one currently sporting something under the table.

"Gin and tonic," he said, his finger pressing hard at the back seam of the lad's trousers, rubbing back and forth. "No lemon. You got that?"

The lad groaned a faint assent, and Jim handed him the note and sent him off with a swat. He'd never got a drink delivered faster, that much was certain.

Apollyon kept at it when the lad came back, slowly rubbing him off under the table like he was petting a cat. The lad shut his eyes tight, biting down hard on his lip to keep quiet.

Jim shuffled and dealt again, but he doubted the rest of them were paying any more attention to their cards than he was. They all bet small, keeping up the pretence but mostly watching the lad as he squirmed and whimpered.

The pup didn't even make it through the round. He tried to push Apollyon's hand away, or maybe he was grasping at it, and it looked like he was going to bite clean through his lip as a horrified sound eked out from him. The blush painted its way right up to the tips of his ears, and he shook as if seized by a fit, his chair scuffing loudly against the floor.

Jim stared, having to rearrange himself in his trousers as the lad's red-rimmed eyes opened.

Duncan leaned over, looking down at the lad's lap.

No one said anything for almost a full minute. Then Apollyon slowly pushed his empty glass in front of the lad.

Defeated and sniffling, the lad stood up on wobbly legs, his expression torn between lust-struck and miserable and his trousers stained with a sizable wet spot in the front.

"Messy little pup," Jim muttered, smacking his lips.

Looking far too pleased with himself, Apollyon flipped the lad a coin. Then, rather indulgently, he said, "And one for yourself too, big man."

The others laughed, but Jim had to give a rueful shake of his head as the lad scurried off. Soft-hearted bastard, that Apollyon. He was going to spoil that boy.


End file.
